


A Kindling Light

by AnnaVarg



Series: The Phoenix and the Griffon [6]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaVarg/pseuds/AnnaVarg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn Hawke is convinced Anders has forgotten his birthday, but Anders and the orphans have a grand plan. Autumn is a time for remembrance, and wistful stories, and picnics by the fireplace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kindling Light

"Gone?" Anders leaned on his staff, losing his footing at the weight of the news.  
  
Merrill nodded, and fidgeted, hiding the hand Anders had just finished healing behind her back. "I'm sorry. No one knows where she went. Her little house was empty this morning, and her poor cat was _pining_ \- I took him to Lania's where he can play with her children."  
  
Anders pressed the side of his hand to his eye, feeling how Justice bristled and anguished. Vesla, the kindly old elf lady who had helped hide apostates from the templars after her brother had been taken to the Gallows and not seen again, was the third mage sympathiser to disappear within a month. No wonder it was so difficult to find anyone willing to stand up against Meredith. The templars were ruthlessly effective, and they were tightening the noose.  
  
"Well, I see you're busy getting glowy, so I'll just be on my way," Merrill said, taking a timid step back. "I have a lot of books on magical artefacts to go through - tell Hawke I said thank you, would you?"  
  
Anders sank down on one of the cots in his clinic. Autumn had darkened the nights, and the news had grown ever more grim in its wake. Lately, Kirkwall seemed wreathed in gloom, and it was hard to see from all the shadows closing in.  
  
"I will." He was moved to raise his voice, seeing Merrill was all but fleeing. "Halla's Breath worked great, by the way. See all these empty cots? They would be filled with feverish patients if you hadn't suggested it."  
  
The elf girl stood still, on tiptoe, and gave him a flicker of a smile over her shoulder. "Oh! I'm glad to hear it worked on humans!"  
  
"You mean you didn't even know--" Anders bit back his rising temper. Maker, she could've poisoned his patients and didn't even realise. He had checked the herb himself so he knew it was harmless, but her careless attitude was grating. Still, he had to concede, she had meant well. She always did. "Thanks. For telling me about Vesla."  
  
Merrill smiled, sadly, and nodded. "No problem. I'll let you know if I hear of her."  
  
One could forget she had made a deal with a demon, sometimes.  
  
Well, that was that. Vesla had been the last one to offer her home as a safe hiding place. Anders was out of safe havens to suggest to apostates trying to avoid the Gallows, and out of patients, too, it seemed. For the first time in longer than he cared to remember, Anders closed the clinic early.   
  
Halla's Breath had been a Makersend, he had to admit. Autumn colds ravaged the weakest Kirkwall residents, and while there was no cure for the common cold, Anders had been desperate to find something cheap that would ease the high fevers of the oldest and youngest of his patients. It turned out Halla's Breath grew in Darktown itself, preferring the cold and the damp, and gathering and preparing it was easy enough. Quinn had consulted his books, and found him the plant's more common but less poetic name, since people distrusted new medicine with an obviously elven name. Along with the name and its regional variations, Quinn had also discovered several anecdotes on its significance to certain Avvar tribes, a detailed guide to using it to dye fabric and a rather rude Tevene song that likened its unpleasant smell to an unfaithful lover's breath, and cheerfully shared all this information with Anders over breakfast, covering half the dining room table with parchment. Anders had expected nothing less. For Quinn, it had been a short answer.  
  
Anders caught the side of his mouth twitching up in a smile. At least he knew that no matter what Kirkwall threw at him, autumn colds or templars, he didn't have to face the battle alone. Having a partner in crime - although it was hardly a _crime_ to oppose tyranny - to share his life with all these years made living under Meredith's oppression bearable. It reminded him that in the middle of the darkness, flickers of hope still existed.

Anders let his gaze linger on the busy vendor stalls of the Lowtown Market as he made his way to the estate, taking advantage of the rare occasion of going home before dark. Nothing caught his eye, and just as well; he wouldn't have been able to afford it, anyway. He paused to leaf idly through the few books on display, all of which Quinn either had in his library or probably had no interested in, and sighed. Practically every coin he made went to his clinic, or to the liberation effort, and usually that was fine - he needed very little money for himself, especially with Quinn insisting on feeding him and buying him anything else he judged necessary. It was never anything too extravagant, and it wasn't like Quinn was flaunting his wealth; he surreptitiously gave money away, embarrassed to have so much. But there was one thing Anders couldn't buy with Quinn's money, no matter how freely offered, and that was a gift for him.  
  
For years, Anders hadn't even known Quinn's birthday. It wasn't something he would have thought to ask; he couldn't remember his own, for one. The Fereldan Circle wasn't famous for its birthday parties. If anything, such reminders of their lives outside the Circle had been discouraged, he recalled with Justice's cold clarity, and had to close the book as his hand involuntarily clenched into a fist.   
  
He had first heard that Quinn's birthday was in Kingsway when his mother muttered worriedly that Carver ought've written to acknowledge it. By then, it had been too late to celebrate it, and Quinn hadn't seemed to mind. But the thought of celebrating the birthday of a mage, an apostate, or at least making a note of it, wouldn't leave Anders alone. The rebelliousness of it fascinated him. It would be like taking back and reclaiming something that had been denied him and so many others.  
  
All right, and he also couldn't stop imagining the surprise turning into pleasure on Quinn's face, his eyes shining and an easy smile spreading on his lips. Making him happy wasn't difficult, but it was always rewarding, especially now that they were both so busy they hardly had time for just each other. Kirkwall's mages and other citizens needed help, and Quinn worked tirelessly, even abandoning his more esoteric research when the political situation in the city grew more and more agitated. Every night, he curled up next to Anders, and prattled him to sleep, and it was a bright blessing in Anders's otherwise shadow-cast life. He had given Anders so much, _too much_ , a voice echoing with the Fade insisted; Anders snatched up every opportunity to do the giving instead.  
  
The previous autumn, Quinn's mother's death had still been an open wound, and any celebration had been completely out of the question. Since then, Quinn had filled the empty places in the estate with runaways and orphans, offering shelter and food and comfort. Only his mother's room remained locked and untouched. Most "guests" didn't stay, of course. A Fereldan lady called Ines had approached Sebastian, of all people, in the Chantry, and informed him that should the Champion be interested in putting in a small investment, she could establish an orphanage for the unfortunate children thieving and begging on Kirkwall's streets. Most children had moved into her orphanage right away, and now, almost a year later, only Steafan and his little sister remained. Steafan was a handful, ever on the move and with fingers as sticky as honey, so Mistress Ines was probably relieved to not be the one keeping an eye on him so he didn't...  
  
...Do exactly what he was doing right now. Anders pushed the book out of his way and reached for his staff when he saw a familiar head peer down from the stall's makeshift roof, upside down, and a grabbing hand reach out for the jewellery on display. Their eyes met, and Steafan withdrew as quickly as a squirrel; Anders pushed through the unaware bystanders, and saw Steafan scampering down and trying to slip away into the crowd. He grabbed the boy by the neck of his jacket - the jacket Quinn had bought him - and gave him a stern glare as he dragged him away from the stall. He spoke in a low voice, not wanting to catch the attention of the templars that were even more numerous here than the city guards.

"Back to your old bad habits? Don't try to tell me you were just playing. I don't care what Quinn says, this time you're going to bed without supper, and don't even dream of griffon tales for a month."  
  
"No, no, no, I-- It's not fair, I was not--"   
  
Steafan wriggled and squirmed. By the time he had managed to free himself from Anders's grip, Anders found himself surrounded by familiar faces. Corentin, Steafan's friend, put his hand on Anders's arm.  
  
"Don't - It's not his fault. I told him to do it. It was my idea."  
  
He could have been just standing up for a friend, but he had a serious look on his face, and Annalyn, the oldest and usually the most level-headed of the lot, nodded to his words.  
  
"You better come with us," she said, and made it sound like Anders was about to be introduced to a secret underground society.  
  
He knew a fair amount about those.  
  
"Don't tell me you're all in this together?" Anders frowned, interested in spite of himself. "When Mistress Ines finds out you're stealing from market vendors--"  
  
"Don't tell her!" Annalyn implored. "And please, please don't tell Quinn! I swear on Andraste's pyre, we haven't been stealing - not before this!" She glanced around, and gestured for him to follow.  
  
Anders had to hurry to keep up with the scurrying and scampering children who knew these backstreets like their own pockets. Annalyn led them to a dark, abandoned warehouse, and the children gathered in a half circle around Anders, as solemn as any conspirators. He knew every child present; they had all sheltered under Quinn's roof once.  
  
"All right," he said, "what is this all about?"  
  
Lydia nudged the guilty-looking Maura, and Maura nudged Keavy, who pushed Annalyn forward. She eyed him sharply, but took a deep breath and began.  
  
"So, you know it's Quinn's birthday in two days, right? There's this vendor in Darktown, a scavenger, see, who's just come back from a trip to the deepest parts of the sewers. We saw him when we were... Anyway, he says he's found a place where the old wall has crumbled and there was this chamber full of treasure, only now he has to find someone to sell it to, and no one in Hightown will believe him, and no one down here has the money."   
  
She drew a deep breath, and her best friend Gwen continued: "One of the books he had is called the Light of the Eidola, I checked twice and that was its name, and I know Quinn's been looking for it a long, long time, because it's rare or forbidden or something like that."  
  
 _Rare or forbidden or something like that._ Anders's mind was racing. He could remember Quinn talking about the book on several occasions, always in a longing voice. The girl was talking about one of the rarest tomes ever written on Spirit magic and the nature of the Fade; if the Chantry got its hands on it, it would probably be burnt as dangerous heresy. It was no wonder the scavenger found it difficult to sell it to anyone on the higher levels of the city.  
  
"Wait, how do you rascals know about Quinn's birthday?"  
  
"He told us," Steafan piped up, face a picture of innocence.  
  
"No he didn't," Maura said, looking confused, "that was from the book you read--"  
  
Her brother slammed his palm over her mouth, but it was too late. "Maura!" he hissed. "Why are you such a _stupidhead_?"  
  
Keavy stood up straight. "Steafan read his diary once when he left it open on the desk. We _told_ him it wasn't nice."  
  
Gwen kicked his ankle. "You lousy tattletale! We're all in this together, remember?"  
  
Annalyn gently pulled the two apart when they were about to start fighting like wildcats.  
  
Anders let out a deep breath, and sat down on a half collapsed crate. "So... this was your plan? Steal forged jewellery from the Lowtown market, and buy a priceless tome?"  
  
The children shuffled guiltily.   
  
"Do you honestly think Quinn would want you to steal a birthday present for him?"  
  
"Well, it's easy for _you_ ," little Lydia said, pointing an accusing finger at him and pouting. "You can just do kissy stuff to him and he'll be happy! We want to make him happy, too!"

"We did try to find work, honestly," Annalyn said. "But it's difficult on our own. No one wants to hire us." She sighed. "And it's not just the tome. We wanted to bake him a cake, too, and it turns out everything in cakes is expensive. You need fruit, and fresh cream, and sugar and eggs, and all those sodding things, and they won't sell rum to us, we're too young."  
  
"Language," Gwen said, pursing her lips disapprovingly. Ines had taught her well.  
  
Baking. Anders hadn't even considered baking. Bodahn was an accomplished cook, and Anders hadn't had to think about preparing his own food, let alone anyone else's, for years. But it made a lot of sense; Quinn didn't just have one sweet tooth, he had the whole set, and Anders had long ago learnt that if there was a key to his heart, it was hidden in a pudding. He thought about the ecstatic look on Quinn's face when he sank his teeth into a moist cake, how he licked crumbs and sugar off the sides of his mouth, and perhaps some sticky filling was spilt on his chest...  
  
"He's gone all spirit-y again."  
  
"No, he glows when he does that."  
  
Steafan waved his hand in front of Anders's face. "Hey? Um, am I still in trouble?"  
  
Anders blinked, and shifted in sudden discomfort. A plan had started to form in his mind.  
  
"I think you've given me an idea," he said, and the children stepped closer, eyes huge and curious. "We're going to go see Varric. And then you can help me talk Bodahn into letting us borrow his kitchen for one night. We can arrange something special for Quinn, if you help - and no more stealing."  
  
Before he had finished the sentence, he had Maura on his lap, hugging his breath out. The other children were grinning and moving about excitedly. Gwen and Annalyn put their heads together, starting to plan immediately, and Corentin sat down, clearly relieved no one was going to be punished. Well, Anders still hadn't made up his mind about that. Quinn could be far too lenient with Steafan.  
  
Anders smiled, and shook his head, patting Maura's curly head. He had never considered having a family, children of his own, before he met Quinn. He had thought accepting the Darkspawn curse into his blood had more or less sealed the deal. But occasionally he did feel like a parent to these children, because they adored Quinn, and he adored Quinn, and they were all bound together by that feeling, in some strange way.  
  
Maura leant close to whisper loudly into his ear. "Can you put a pretty bird in the cake? One with purple and red and orange feathers? And then can it fly out and flap its wings and sprinkle stars everywhere?"  
  
Anders smiled. "Let's find out how we can get that cake made in the first place, and then see about making it magical, hm?"  
  
The children agreed, more or less unanimously, and dragged him out of their secret hiding place and to the door of The Hanged Man before Anders could get a word in edgewise.  
  
\-----------------

Varric steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "So, let me get this straight. You're here for a _job_?"  
  
Anders pried Maura's fingers away from his ponytail - the others had agreed to wait outside, but she wouldn't let go of his pauldron, so he had to take her into Varric's suite in the Hanged Man with him - and sighed. "You know everybody, Varric. All I need is for you to keep an ear out for anyone who might need healing. Anyone with money. And it needs to be as soon as possible."  
  
"I take it there's some very important reason why you can't ask the guy with money you live with? The one with all the noble connections?"  
  
Maura climbed down Anders's coat and onto Varric's table, tracing its carved patterns with her finger, and Anders could focus his whole attention on Varric at last. "Quinn doesn't really have all that many connections. Keeping nobles happy takes time he doesn't have. I think Leandra took care of most of that, anyway."  
  
The dwarf kept a steady eye on him for a second too long. "You've got your reasons, Blondie. All right, I'll see what I can do. I need to check on my contacts." He gestured at Maura, who was practising her somersaults. "Cute kid. Which one of you gave birth to her?"  
  
"For shame, Varric. Can't you tell by her hair that she's the product of a pirate escapade better left unmentioned?"  
  
Varric glanced over his shoulder. "Hear that, Rivaini? And you said he doesn't make jokes anymore. I'd say that was a fair effort."  
  
The curtain that separated Varric's sleeping quarters from the rest of his suite fluttered, and was pushed aside by a bare, brown foot. "I'll declare it the epitome of hilarity if you two will only speak _softly_."  
  
"Isabela?" Anders picked up Maura and wondered if he should cover her ears. "Don't tell me I interrupted something?"  
  
Varric chuckled, and Isabela groaned, her foot disappearing behind the curtain again.  
  
"If only. Sex is a magnificent hangover cure," she lamented. "Ooh, just a little trip to Ostwick and I forget that Corff's whisky is _deadly_. Varric, at least you could let me scratch your chest pelt a bit. For comfort?"  
  
"She's tried, Blondie, but so far I've managed to defend my virtue." Varric pushed the chair back, and stood up. His eyes gleamed with ideas. "Have you got any more of those kids in the estate? A little older ones, maybe?"  
  
"As a matter of fact," Anders said, and gestured towards the door. He wasn't sure if he liked the slow smile spreading on Varric's lips.  
  
"I know a guy who's in dire need of messengers. If you can round up a group of kids who are quick on their feet and can be trusted to run a message and not get lost, there's a job waiting for them."  
  
"I'll do it! I can run a message!" Maura exclaimed. "I can! I'm faster than Gwen!"  
  
"I think I should be the one to work for the money and not you guys, Maura." Anders frowned in thought. "This doesn't have anything to do with the Coterie, does it?"  
  
Varric shook his head. "Hey, I'm not in the habit of putting kids in harm's way. Any more than they already are in Lowtown, anyway." He pursed his lips, considering. "Look, Blondie, if this is about paying back the elf, I wouldn't worry about it. The last guy who hired him as bodyguard tried paying him extra, and he wouldn't accept it. Something to do with principles; honest pay for honest work, free man choosing his trade, all that. And I happen to have it on good authority that he cheated when he cleaned you out last weekend."  
  
"I almost had tears in my eyes," Isabela said from behind the curtain. "I was so proud. I'd only shown him that trick once."  
  
That _did_ explain a few things - first and foremost, Fenris's incredible luck in the last three rounds of Diamondback they had played.  
  
"Maura," Anders said as ominously as he could, "I know you can run, but I don't think Isabela has heard just how loud and high you can _scream_."  
  
She drew a deep breath, face lighting up at the chance to show the capacity of her lungs, but Varric raised his hands, and Anders halted her.  
  
"Not in my suite, Blondie. Take little miss Golden Lungs outside, and let me round up my contacts. I'll send word to the estate."

"Bye, Anders," Isabela called, "see you next weekend. I'll see what sort of tricks I can teach Fenris in the meantime."  
  
"Teach him some of mine," Anders said, covering Maura's ears, "and if you can get him to demonstrate _them_ on the Diamondback table, I'll gladly lose a few rounds."  
  
"Ooh. I never back down from a challenge and you know it. Bye, Justice! Thanks for letting Anders come out and play!"  
  
Anders rolled his eyes, and carried Maura out.  
  
It was raining softly outside, so softly it was more like a wet mist hanging in the air, and the children had huddled in the shelter of the roof of the neighbouring building.  
  
"Well?" Annalyn demanded, arms crossed over her chest.  
  
"I think I managed to find you an honest job," Anders said, putting Maura down. "But I'm hoping I'll find one first and it won't be necessary. Varric will let me know later. If it doesn't work out, I'm just going to have to loan the money, I guess. In any case, you have to ask Ines's permission before you say yes to anything. And speaking of her, aren't you late for supper? It's getting dark."  
  
"Oh, Andraste's tits!" slipped out of Annalyn's mouth, and she turned pale. Gwen pouted and nudged her. "Come on, you lot, we need to be in our room before she comes to check on us!"  
  
"You sneaked out without her permission?" Anders shook his head. He shouldn't have expected anything different. "Don't get caught, all right? I'll come see you tomorrow, so try to be good until then. What's that, Steafan? All right, up you come."  
  
He let Steafan ride on his shoulders, and with Maura's little hand squeezing his tightly, made his way through the rain to Hightown.  
  
\-----------------  
  
The rain might have been soft, but it was still rain, and they were all sniffling and wet by the time Bodahn opened the door and let them in. Anders almost ran into Quinn when he was stepping into the main hall.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Quinn hurriedly picked up the scroll he had dropped. He had a book under one arm and his rain cloak thrown over the other. There were crumbs in his beard. "There you are, the three of you. Wipe your nose, Maura. Steafan, did you sneak out of the library window again when Bodahn's back was turned? And you even dragged your sister with you. What do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Steafan muttered, sniffling and shoving his hands into his pockets. Maura bowed her head in remorse, too.  
  
Quinn put the books down on the bench in order to throw his cloak over his shoulders. His expression softened. "All right, we'll talk about it later. Look at you, you're shivering. Go change your clothes, and warm up by the fire. Bodahn has some tea ready." He finally turned to Anders, and eased into a smile. "Where did you find them?"  
  
Anders reached out his hand and brushed the crumbs from his beard, and they both laughed softly. Quinn always ate sloppily when he was reading at the same time. "Lowtown. They were with their friends from Ines's orphanage." He kissed Quinn, and although Quinn answered it, he could sense urgency in him; he didn't fully relax into the contact.  
  
"Bodahn made chicken pie. Have some and warm up, love. I have to go check the archives one more time, but I won't be long. Promise." Quinn blinked, remembering something. "Oh! We got a message that the Bone Pit Mine could use a look-see. Another disturbed nest of giant spiders, or something equally unpleasant, I think. I was thinking tomorrow? To get it done and over with as quickly as possible?"  
  
Anders bit his lip. "That... might be tough. Um, clinic business, you know."  
  
"The day... after tomorrow, then?" Quinn queried, and his expression turned guarded.  
  
Anders did his best not to frown, or let it show on his face that he was appalled. Why in the Maker's name would Quinn want to spend his birthday knee-deep in the cursed mud of the Bone Pit, fighting spiders? Was that how insignificant he thought the day was?  
  
"No promises," he said, as apologetically as he could manage. He didn't like lying to Quinn, but perhaps he could manage a day or two simply dodging the topic. The surprise would be worth it, he reminded himself.

Quinn nodded, and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "All right. I - I have a lot of reading to do, too, it's... it's perfectly fine. I'll gather everyone together, and we can work out a suitable day, hm?" He kissed the corner of Anders's eye. "I have to go, before I completely forgot what I'm going there for. I made the corrections to your manifesto; give it a look after you've had a bite to eat, it's on the desk, and don't mind the second to last remark, I checked it again and you were right after all, there are Aequitarian texts that support your statement." He kissed Anders once more. This time his warm lips landed on his cheek. "See you later. Make sure Steafan finishes his supper, would you?"  
  
And with that, he was gone, carefully wrapping his books and scrolls in the cloak to keep them safe from the rain. His mind had probably already wandered to his research, unravelling complex arcane mysteries, but he would be there that night to hold Anders and kiss him good night. Anders knew he never had to doubt that. Gazing after Quinn, Anders felt how warmth spread inside him, starting from his cheek. If Quinn had been hurt that Anders hadn't seemed to remember his birthday, he had hidden it, just like he always did, not wanting others to worry about him.   
  
He would make this the best birthday Quinn had ever had.  
  
Maura tugged on his coat. "Bodahn says come into the dining room because he's poured you tea, and also it's all right for us to use the kitchen if we want to, but you have to make sure nothing gets breaked."  
  
Anders turned to her. "Really? You already asked him?"  
  
She smiled and nodded, preening with accomplishment. "Yep!"  
  
As far as Anders knew, Bodahn hadn't taken a personal day for months. He was long overdue a day off, no matter what the reason behind it. "You... didn't mention anything about a birthday surprise, did you?"  
  
Maura giggled, and took hold of Anders's hand with both of hers, starting to drag him to the hall. "Of course not, stupidhead, it's a _surprise_! Come on, you have to make sure Steafan eats all his pie!"  
  
Anders acquiesced, but when they reached the dining hall, Steafan was already swinging on the chandelier, the cheeky little squirrel that he was, because he knew Anders couldn't ground him now. Instead, Anders made him listen to two fairy princess bedtime stories, making them as syrupy and girly as possible, and without a word of griffons. When Maura clapped her hands with joy upon seeing the fairies dancing around her, and Genitivi chased them round the room, Steafan stuck out his tongue at Anders. Anders sent one of the fairies to jolt the brat with a little burst of electricity magic. Steafan yelped, but soon demanded that he do it again, and when his battle against the fairies was over he snuggled happily to sleep, all his energy finally spent.  
  
Once the children were asleep, Anders lit the lamp and started to go through the several insightful comments Quinn had left on the latest revision of his manifesto. Most were minor complaints about his grammar and "overblown rhetoric", whatever it meant, but it all helped, and he immersed himself in the task of making corrections, Justice humming his approval so loud it made his head buzz.  
  
He jolted awake when a warm hand kneaded into the aching muscles of his neck.  
  
"Mwuh?" spilt out of his mouth, and he saw that his quill had left a smudge of ink on the desk. He'd have to magic that out.  
  
Quinn kissed his temple, and breathed warm air into his hair. "I thought _I_ was working late. Come to bed, sweetling. There you go. Watch your knees."  
  
Anders stumbled up, and swept a wave of magic over the surface of the desk to clean it up, putting everything in more or less the right place. Then Quinn was already helping him out of his shirt, and belt, and breeches, and leading him to the heavenly softness of the bed. He sank into it gratefully, hugging his favourite pillow, and Quinn climbed over him to knead sweet relief into his cramping and achy muscles, his own kind of healing magic. Anders made pleased sounds, floating between pleasant wakefulness and equally pleasant sleep.

"I heard there were battle fairies in the library."  
  
"Mine won," Anders mumbled into the pillow.  
  
"A fair victory, I trust." Quinn settled next to him, hand continuing to caress his back, a warm weight, an anchor. He yawned, and his speech slurred slightly. "Did you manage to make sense of what I wrote about your closing paragraph? I wanted to fit my comments on the same page, and that means the letters got narrower and narrower, but I tried to make them as readable as I could."  
  
"Mm." Anders couldn't get his eyes open, or find any intelligible words to express how lucky he felt, having someone like Quinn in his life, so he just reached out blindly and threw his arm around him, pulling him closer.  
  
Quinn chuckled breathily. "In the morning, then. Good night, love."  
  
He kissed Anders's forehead, and sighed happily, his breaths becoming deeper as he drifted to sleep.  
  
Anders stayed awake for long enough to hear him start to snore softly. His last thought before sleep swept him away was _the day after tomorrow_ , accompanied by a warm feeling of gratitude and appreciation, and anticipation.   
  
He dreamt of cakes filled with little birds, and the more he made them, the more the birds ruined, but through it all he heard Quinn's patient lecturing on the intricacies of baking nonmagical confections, and the correct grammar in recipes, and so he woke up confused instead of anxious.  
  
\-----------------

The next day was filled with preparations. Without the orphans' help, Anders wouldn't have managed; the difficult part was doing everything behind Quinn's back, and both Maura and Steafan were masters at the art of distraction. Bodahn made an excellent co-conspirator as well, and cleaned up the kitchen for him, showing him where to find all the ingredients he kept in supply. Anders looked at the neatly organised shelves, and knew he would misplace at least half of the items, but trusted that Bodahn would see that he had tried.  
  
Varric's contact seemed the dependable sort, and he only needed the children's help for one day, so Anders pleaded their case to Ines, who tutted and muttered but eventually agreed that the oldest could run messages for one silver piece each if they did it before dark and finished their chores. Maura and Steafan went through half of Quinn's library looking for recipes and handy advice. It was Steafan who found the little worn book tucked between tomes on gravitational magic theory; Anders recognised the handwriting immediately as Leandra's. It wasn't quite a diary, but certainly a personal notebook, and Anders flipped through it quickly, trying not to read anything but recipes, of which there were several. Some even had notes like "Beth's favourite" on them; it was a priceless find. Anders made notes of his own, and carefully placed it back on the shelf.  
  
Then arrived the polite, concise note written on fragrant paper that requested the presence of a discreet and effective healer who asked no questions, and Anders spent the afternoon in the tedious company of a noble lady who somehow found the most evasive and prudish way to explain that her secret lover had been unfaithful and given her "an affliction of the low classes". She had specifically asked for an apostate healer, presumably because she knew he couldn't blackmail her without endangering himself, and also because healing magic didn't take long or require her to undress, once he had finally found out what specifically it was that she had caught. He wanted to tell her that the disease in question was hardly restricted to the "low classes", quite the opposite, but kept his mouth politely shut and pocketed his sovereigns.  
  
When he came back to the estate, Annalyn and Gwen were there waiting for him, cheeks flushed from running. Quinn looked from them to him. Genitivi padded to Anders, sniffing him suspiciously, and barked, flattening his ears.  
  
"Easy, boy; what's the matter with you? It's just Anders." Quinn's expression was patient, but a trace of confusion darkened his gaze. "The girls said they had something to tell you, but they won't tell me what it's all about?"  
  
"It's a secret!" Gwen said, "can't we have secrets?"  
  
"Well, yes, of course, but..." Genitivi barked again, circling Anders, and Quinn stepped closer. "Why... do you smell like lilacs, Anders?"  
  
"A patient," Anders said, truthfully. "Come on, girls, we can talk in the library."  
  
Quinn looked at him, eyebrows bunched together, waiting for him to continue. He knew Anders well enough to know when he had been given only half an answer. What was more, he knew the patients who came to Anders's clinic wore no lilac water. Anders swallowed, undone by the steady gaze begging to understand him. He truly didn't want to lie.  
  
Annalyn grabbed Anders's hand, and ended the uncomfortable moment. "We won't be a minute, Quinn!"  
  
"Wait for me!" Maura called from upstairs, and slid down the bannister, landing neatly on her feet.  
  
Anders bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything, only threw Quinn an apologetic glance, and closed the door of the library behind him. He had to open it immediately afterwards to let Steafan in, but then he turned to the children, taking a deep breath.  
  
"Thank the Maker this is over tomorrow," he muttered under his breath. "Now, what is it?"  
  
Annalyn and Gwen emptied their pockets, and showed him a whole handful of silver pieces.  
  
"Look! We have enough to buy the rum, and sugar, too!" Annalyn beamed. "I already checked, and we can afford everything left on the list with this!"

"Everything except the book," Gwen said, catching Steafan by the sleeve when he was about to climb the bookshelf. "What are we going to do, Anders? We need a present, otherwise it isn't a proper birthday surprise. Remember the story Quinn told us, about the poor boy who gets lost in the enchanted forest? He got presents, and he brought them home, and that was the best part. Cake's good, but once you've had it, it's gone."  
  
Anders took the sovereigns he had earned earlier from his belt pouch, and added in all the other coins he had in his possession. "You think this will be enough?"  
  
Annalyn made quick calculations in her head - she was sharp with numbers - and let out a contemplative noise. "I hope so. The scavenger is still there, Keavy checked. Keep those coins hidden, don't let him know how much you have!"  
  
"Tell him a noble sent you," Gwen instructed further, "and that he's very suspicious if the book's even the real one. And look really bored and put-upon, and ask him to hurry it up."  
  
Anders smiled. The children were a little too wily for their own good, in his opinion, but it did come in handy on occasion. He fished Steafan down from the shelf, and put the coins back into the pouch.  
  
"Come on, then. I'll walk you to the orphanage. It'll be dark soon."

Steafan hung onto his sleeve. "Can I come with? Please?"  
  
"All right, fine. If only to stop you from climbing everyone and everything for a little while."  
  
That meant that Maura had to be allowed to join them too, of course. The siblings kept careful track of favours.  
  
Quinn was still in the hall, petting Genitivi's belly. He watched them hush up as soon as they saw him, and attempt to act casually, and the questions that hid behind his gaze multiplied by the minute. Anders avoided his eyes, feeling a guilty sting in his heart, and helped the children put on their coats and hats.  
  
"Don't be long," Quinn called. "Supper at eight. As usual? I mean, I can certainly keep it warm indefinitely with magic, but it can't do it any favours."  
  
Oh, to the Void with it. Anders couldn't just walk out and leave him like this.  
  
"Wait for me outside," he told the children, and went to him, purpose in his stride.   
  
Quinn gasped when Anders nudged him to look up, and he sucked in that sweet breath, smoothing his mouth over Quinn's, tracing the bow of his lip. He buried his fingers into Quinn's hair, coaxing it loose, freeing it to curl. Quinn closed his eyes tightly, and made a little sound of surrender in his throat.  
  
Anders didn't pull away before Genitivi barked, disappointed at having his belly-rub interrupted. Damn mutt. A cat wouldn't have stooped to making comments.  
  
Quinn's eyes fluttered open. " _Oh._ I-is that how much you like your dinner to be kept warm?"  
  
 _Words, reassuring words_ , Anders thought feverishly, and wished there was a spell for making them appear out of the aether and roll off his tongue.  
  
"Yes," he said instead, and ran the back of his hand down the trail of freckles until it met the collar of Quinn's shirt, and when his fingers itched to reach under the fabric, he told them that they could wait until the next day, and feast on the warmth of Quinn's skin then. "We'll be back before eight, don't worry."  
  
He was rewarded with a smile, and although there were still questions Quinn was too polite to ask lurking in his warm copper eyes, Anders could finally bear to leave him, for a short while.  
  
\-----------------  
  
He hurried along the rain-beaten alleys and down darkening corridors, but in the end, he was too late.

The scavenger, a scruffy-looking fellow with shifty eyes, informed him curtly that the had just sold The Light of the Eidola to a Chantry scholar who would send someone to pick it up shortly, and good riddance. He patted the book to emphasise his words, and tried to sell Anders medallions and other jewellery, each piece more disturbing in design than the last. Anders picked up the book, leafing through it wistfully - it looked to be filled with tiny text and complex formulae, all in ancient Tevene, all like honey to Quinn's buzzing passion for arcane knowledge. He had never quite understood the fascination Quinn had for books, and the joy that shone in his eyes when he acquired new tomes, but he had to admit he was curious about this one. He wondered if it was Justice's influence, this stirring interest in the Fade and the magic of the Maker's first children. What a pity he wouldn't get to peruse the book more thoroughly, with Quinn. The Chantry would probably bury it somewhere, and no mage would ever benefit from its knowledge.  
  
A sheet of parchment slipped out from between the pages of the book and floated to the ground. Anders eyed the scavenger - he didn't seem to have noticed - and picked it up. The words were written by hand, in faded ink, and to Anders's amazement, they were not in Tevene.  
  
 _Dearest N._ , it said, in beautiful, loopy handwriting, _I write to you now, at the cusp of a journey most perilous, to humbly request that you take The Light to C.. Have him shield it with his magick. This knowledge of the Spirit Realm is ours to preserve, if not to keep. Where I and L. are going we can take no books. Pray for us if you will, my bright-star, my constant. The following words I write to you, and no one else. Keep them, and know that while my soul wanders, my heart forever remains with you._  
  
What followed was a hastily scribbled mess of words and formulae. Anders squinted; he thought he could make out the writing, and most words were familiar...  
  
The scavenger turned to show him a bronze locket that held the picture of a staring, greenish thing, and Anders quickly hid the parchment behind his back as he shook his head no. He rolled the parchment up and slipped it into his belt pouch, and made a hasty retreat to his clinic.  
  
He lit a lantern and looked more closely at the patterns. Most symbols were similar to the ones used in the books he had read in the Fereldan Circle tower. By the time he realised what the instructions were for, magic washed over the entire clinic, flowing from his hands and blooming around him, in colour, in light.  
  
"Maker's breath," Anders mumbled, and stared at the spell pattern in his hand, his mind filling with possibilities.  
  
\-----------------  
  
Quinn's birthday dawned with the first sun the city had seen in days. It was quite beautiful, Anders thought as he pushed the curtain out of the way; the air was crisp, the sky was clear and blue, and one could finally see the brilliant shades of yellow and orange in the leaves, when there wasn't a grey mist of rain hanging over the world.  
  
Quinn was more distracted than ever, muttering in dead languages and putting his tunic on backwards, and when he said he'd probably need to spend the whole day at the archives to make comparative research, he looked Anders in the eye. _Tell me not to go,_ his eyes seemed to plead, for just a moment, before he sighed and buried his nose in a scroll.  
  
Anders bit his lip, and promised Quinn he'd look after Steafan, to make sure he didn't run away again.  
  
Luckily Quinn kept himself so preoccupied he didn't even notice that Bodahn left with Sandal after breakfast. Maura and Steafan kept giggling and giving Anders knowing looks until Quinn finally gathered his scrolls and books and left to the archives. His distracted goodbye kiss tasted of libraries and tea strong enough to keep him up all night.

The estate was Anders's. He smiled to himself; it was time to set everything in place. He checked the fires, like he had promised Bodahn, and when the children appeared, bouncing with excitement, he sent the oldest ones to the market to buy the last supplies. Maura insisted on helping with the cooking, so he made her wash her hands and brought a chair into the kitchen so that she could reach the worktop.  
  
Cooking itself wasn't hard, Anders thought; he hadn't had much practice lately, but he had prepared poultices and other medicines for his clinic, and there was something familiar about following recipes. It reminded him of magic studies, for some reason, the patterns and precise timing with a dash of creative madness. The children returned, and before long, the whole kitchen was full of cheery chatter, the air thick with flour and intriguing scents. Bodahn had an impressive selection of dried herbs in the pantry, and spices Anders had only read about. The children behaved surprisingly well, united by a common goal, and he could focus on his own tasks. He tried to avoid using magic, but it was too tempting, fire spells especially; water boiled and butter melted easily with just a touch of magic, and it delighted the children. He made the occasional illusion, to keep the youngest occupied, and tried to make sure Maura didn't feed Genitivi all the ham.  
  
They ate lunch together, a simple stew Keavy and Gwen had prepared under Anders's watchful eye, and then Maura declared it was time they started making the cake.  
  
Annalyn and Gwen had grandiose Plans, it turned out; they showed Anders a book they had borrowed from Ines titled "Orlesian Galas and the Art of Conversation" that had colourful illustrations of most extravagant parties. They pointed at a many-tiered cake, filled with almond butter and candied apples and covered from top to bottom in meringue.  
  
"I don't know," Anders said, cautiously, while thinking how outright impossible it was, "that calls for a huge oven, to get the meringue to cover the whole cake like that."  
  
Maura made a disappointed noise; Gwen pursed her lips, thinking furiously.  
  
"We can put almond butter in it, though, can't we?" Steafan inquired, always willing to see the sunny side.  
  
"Yes, that should be fine, but--"  
  
"What if you bake the meringue with your magic?" Annalyn chimed in, tapping the tip of her nose with her finger.  
  
"I..." Anders stopped to consider it, in spite of himself. There was no real reason why it wouldn't work; he had just caramelised sugar for the custard Lydia had helped him make, and meringue was only sugar with egg whites added in. "Well, I suppose we could try it."  
  
The children cheered, and hurried back to their tasks. Maura hugged him quickly, and climbed back onto her chair; on it, she was taller than any of the other children, and endlessly pleased about it.  
  
They did have to use the oven to bake the cake, but with everyone helping, they had it baked, filled and lathered in whisked egg whites in no time at all. It didn't look quite the same as the illustration, but that wasn't the point, surely; it had all the sugar and cinnamon Quinn could want. Anders glanced at the mountain of meringue, and then at Maura and Lydia, who were waiting with bowls full of candied apples to decorate the cake with.  
  
"Step back a bit," he said, trying not to appear nervous.  
  
 _All right,_ he thought, _here goes._ He took a deep breath, and gathered elemental forces into the palms of his hands. Usually when he did this he shoved the fire away from him immediately, as much of it as he could muster, hurled it towards a foe and worried about the consequences later. Doing it slower was considerably trickier. Oh, he really could have used Quinn's advice now, on doling out magic like this, burning it on a low flame. The power prickled his skin, and needled his palms, until all he could do was release the flames and hope for the best, hardly daring to look.

At first, it seemed to go as planned, the low flames surrounding the meringue, licking it brown. But then the heat caught on the sugar, and the flames leapt higher, startling all of them. Genitivi started to bark a warning. Lydia scampered into the pantry, Steafan tried to catch one of the blue flames and yelped as he got his fingers burnt, and Anders pushed Maura and Keavy behind him, panic pouring ice down his spine.  
  
Ice! That was it! He twisted the magic to the opposite direction, and the kitchen filled with mist and fume as the flames were smothered. Anders herded the children out into the hall with Genitivi's help, and opened the window. When the worst of it had passed, and they had stopped coughing, Anders peeked back into the kitchen to look at the scorched pile that had been the cake.  
  
"I dropped the candy-apples," Lydia said, sounding heart-broken.  
  
Steafan said nothing, trying to be brave, but Anders knelt by him to heal his blistering fingertips. Thank the Maker he was the only one who had got hurt, and not very badly at all.  
  
"Let's not mention this to Quinn," Anders muttered, "or Bodahn. In fact, we better not speak of this again, agreed?"  
  
"It's ruined!" Gwen exclaimed, and scraped black soot off the hard pile of burnt sugar. "Oh no - Why weren't you more careful? You were only supposed to warm it up a little!"  
  
"I never said I was an expert at meringue magic!" Anders pointed out, but his heart sank as well. They didn't have the ingredients for another cake.  
  
Maura looked up at Anders, eyes wide and horrified at the thought of a birthday surprise without a birthday cake. "What are we going to do now?"  
  
Anders checked the rest of the kitchen, which was fortunately intact and not burnt. "Well." He picked up Lydia's bowl, and the candied apples, most of which looked fine. "We're going to have to improvise. We have eggs, don't we? And sugar?"  
  
"But not much else," Annalyn said. "We already made--"  
  
"Custard!" Corentin picked up one of Anders's notes, and pointed at it, a wide smile dawning on his face. "Says right here, spicy caramel custard is Quinn's favourite!"  
  
"But we made it already!" Lydia said. She had been extremely proud of the little custard, having upended it herself.  
  
Corentin scoffed. "That's nothing! We'll make a proper caramel custard, a big one, that you can decorate!"  
  
The children looked at each other, finding no fault in the new plan, and turned to Anders. Just like that, the birthday surprise had been saved.  
  
Finally, when there wasn't a single recipe left to be tried, they tidied up the kitchen, put everything in more or less the right place, let Genitivi lick all the spoons and smiled at each other in triumph. Anders picked up Maura, and placed her on Genitivi's back.  
  
"You know what to do?" he confirmed with Annalyn.  
  
She nodded, eyes shining with conspirator's glee. "Go fetch Quinn, don't tell him anything, don't give him too much of a scare, watch out for each other, don't let anyone go to the orphanage alone."  
  
"Good." Anders tussled up Steafan's hair. "Have a fun sleepover, you two. Genitivi will look after you."  
  
The thought of taking Genitivi with them made Maura attempt a smile, but she still clung to Anders's sleeve.  
  
Annalyn gently pried her fingers loose. "You can sleep with Gwen and me," she promised. "We'll crawl under the blankets and tell stories."

"One more thing." Anders opened one of the kitchen cupboards, and took out small bundles, handing each child one. "Thanks for the help. I'll make sure to let Quinn know the caramel custard is from you."  
  
The children of course immediately unwrapped their bundles, and their eyes lit up at the sight.  
  
"Candied almonds!"  
  
"Don't eat them all at once," Anders warned, smiling to one side, not expecting anyone to obey him, and escorted the children outside.  
  
He fed the fires, checked one more time that everything was in place, changed his flour-dusted shirt and waited for Quinn, heart pounding, palms sweating. He didn't have a book, and he didn't have a cake, but when did things ever go wholly according to plan? It was still a birthday surprise, and he would do his best to make sure Quinn enjoyed it.  
  
Anders smiled to himself. Despite the setbacks and his nerves, he was looking forward to it.  
  
\-----------------

It would have been impossible to miss Quinn's arrival; he threw the door open with what might have been a dramatic gesture, had he not run into Anders and almost tripped over his own feet. He didn't have any of his books with him. His eyes were wide and anxious.  
  
"Anders," he said, and tried to catch his breath, "thank the Maker, I thought - oh, I'm glad you're here; is he still up there?"  
  
Anders pushed back his hood, opened the clasp, and peeled off his cloak. It wasn't wet; apparently, the skies had finally run dry. He tossed it on the bench. Quinn didn't resist, but kept his eyes fixed on Anders's face.  
  
"Those brats. They were supposed to send you home, not scare you to death."  
  
Quinn opened his mouth, then closed it again, his eyebrows finally descending. "Steafan isn't trapped on top of the tallest bookshelf?"  
  
Anders wrapped his arms loosely around Quinn's neck, and reached up to touch his lips to Quinn's forehead. This close, he noticed that there was fine dust in his hair and an ink stain on his cheek. "No. Everything is fine, the children are at the orphanage, Genitivi is with them, Bodahn and Sandal are on a boat trip to Ostwick and you." He kissed Quinn's dry, wind-chilled lips, breathing them warm. "You are twenty-nine today."  
  
He would never get tired of seeing joy spread on Quinn's face. It started from his parting lips and slowly brightened his features, tugging back the sides of his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes, stealing focus from his gaze.  
  
"You _remembered_?"  
  
"Mm-hm." Anders smiled as Quinn's hands came up to hold on to his sides, stroking the pale green linen of his shirt. "I have some birthday surprises for you, but first I think I'll strip you naked and wash away all that library dust--" He took Quinn's hand in his, and brought it to his lips, kissing the blue-stained fingertips. "And ink, and the autumn chill, until you're thoroughly scrubbed and warm."  
  
Quinn made a pleased little noise, and his fingers clenched into Anders's shirt. "That sounds perfectly _wonderful_. The archives are not dusted very often, and I wouldn't be surprised if some of the spiders had made their webs there for long enough to learn to read."  
  
Anders kissed him, tilting his head just enough to the side to hint at something deeper and hungrier, and led him through the hall to the bathroom, glancing at the library door to make sure it was closed. He breathed a little sigh of relief when he saw the faint wisps of steam rising from the bathwater; it was still hot, and didn't need any magical help. Quinn must have run all the way to the estate, so quickly he had arrived.   
  
Anders hadn't been sure how much bathing oil to use, but apparently it hadn't been too little, because the whole room smelled pleasantly of sandalwood, and whatever else was in the oil Quinn always used to keep his skin from drying out.  
  
"Candles?" Quinn looked around, mouth hanging open in wonder, eyes sparkling in the lively light of the tiny flames. "Really, Anders, you could've simply kissed me happy birthday this morning--"  
  
Anders unbuckled Quinn's belt, starting to undress him without looking. He didn't have to; he had years of practice. "You don't approve?"  
  
Quinn smiled to the side, one eyebrow twitching up. He hadn't smiled like that when they had first met, Anders realised. There was a whimsical, playful side to Quinn that had slowly emerged during the past few years; it was a sign of confidence that Anders found enticing beyond belief.  
  
"Of course I _approve_ \- I'm just, well, astonished. This is beyond wonderful, this is - Oh, I'm sure I'll find some better words for it in a minute." Quinn sighed happily, sliding his hand down Anders's chest. "And you're wearing my very favourite shirt; don't think I didn't notice. I don't know what it is about this leaf-green colour - I can barely dress myself, I have no eye for these things - but I think it looks perfect on you." He raised his arms helpfully to let Anders pull his undershirt over his head. "Um, feel free to leave it on for as long as you like?"

Anders stepped back to let Quinn tug off his shoes and put away the rest of his clothes. "Then I will," he said, and pressed his mouth to Quinn's jawline in what was more a nip than a kiss. He felt the slight tremor it sent through Quinn. "It's your birthday. You decide." He wrapped his arms around Quinn, delighting at the feel of bare skin, and nuzzled the side of his neck. "Make yourself comfortable. The water should be as hot as you like it. I'll be right back."  
  
Reluctantly, he let go of Quinn, and padded to the kitchen to pour them both some mulled wine; following the recipe found in Leandra's notebook, he had used plenty of cinnamon and cloves, as well as apple slices, crisp and tangy. He heard splashing from the bathroom and smiled to himself, stirring in some sugar as an afterthought and swirling the wine with a gentle wave of heating magic. He brought the goblets to the bathroom, setting them on an upside-down wooden pail next to the tub. Quinn had stretched out as much as he could in the hot water; his legs were too long, of course, and were resting on the edge of the tub. His head was tilted back, his ponytail hanging over the side. When he opened his eyes to give Anders a warm smile, he looked like he had surfaced from a pleasant dream.  
  
Anders quickly got rid of his own clothes - leaving the shirt for last, as Quinn had said - and climbed into the tub, facing Quinn. Bathing together took some careful arrangements; the tub was fairly large, but not made for two men with inconveniently long legs. Quinn drew his knees up, but Anders took hold of his ankle, coaxing him to stretch out his legs again, on either side of him, to Quinn's apparent amusement. He leant one foot on the edge of the tub, and left the other tucked close to Anders's leg underwater, and reached out for the goblets. They clinked them together in the soft candlelight.   
  
"Happy birthday," Anders said, and wondered if it was the first time he had ever said those words to anyone.  
  
"That it is. I don't know what could make me feel happier. Or luckier." Quinn's eyes smiled as he sipped the wine, then seemed to look somewhere far away. "Oh. Oh! This is..." He took another sip. Anders watched his throat work, finding it oddly fascinating. "This is _delicious_. It reminds me of something. It'll come to me..."  
  
Anders just hummed nonchalantly in reply, sliding his hand down from Quinn's knee. The water turned the fine, ginger hairs on his legs darker, and accentuated the paleness of his skin. He found a smattering of freckles on Quinn's calf, trailing down to his ankle, that he had never noticed before. Anders put away the goblet and danced his fingers over Quinn's ankle, eliciting a breathy, pleased sound from him. By the time he reached the toes, his touch had turned into a massage, one hand keeping a steady hold while his thumb kneaded into the ball of Quinn's foot. Quinn had large feet, with fine bones, and fine, blue veins that showed through the pale skin. There was enough oil in the bathwater to make it just a bit slippery, and Anders's fingers glided easily over the damp skin.  
  
Quinn tensed a little at first, to keep from squirming; laughter shivered under his skin, not quite bubbling out of him. His toes moved comically, like he was trying to communicate a complicated message with them. They were long, flexible toes, and strangely expressive. Anders fixed his eyes on Quinn's face, thumb making slow, circular motions over the sole of Quinn's foot. He did his best not to tickle, focusing on the stiff muscles under the skin, coaxing them to relax. Quinn always wore the same, heavy shoes, warm and comfortable in cold and wet weather - sensible Fereldan shoes - but Anders wondered now if it was time Quinn got some new ones.  
  
"How am I doing?" he asked, flashing a smile, because he would have expected Quinn to give him at least three anecdotes on the historical context of foot massages by now.

Quinn made a sound in his throat that was close to the one that escaped him when Anders sucked his cock into his mouth. His cheeks were flushed with warmth and delight. The moisture in the air curled the wisps of hair that clung to his skin. "Mmh, Andraste's mercy," he mumbled, "please, don't stop. Ever, if you please."  
  
Anders chuckled, and grabbed Quinn's other foot by the ankle, deciding it was time to give it the same treatment. "Yes, ser. Drink your mulled wine while it's hot."  
  
"I don't deserve you," Quinn said, practically purring with pleasure, sinking down against the side of the tub until the goblet touched the water when he brought it to his lips.  
  
By the time Anders had massaged both of Quinn's feet to his satisfaction, the goblets were empty and the water cooling, and Anders's fingers threatened to stray to Quinn's thighs instead. Quinn tittered at the teasing, tickling touches, a lightweight at the best of times and especially when he was drinking on an empty stomach - he had drunk most of Anders's wine as well, and then sucked and licked even the taste from Anders's mouth with his increasingly thorough kisses.  
  
It was high time they moved on, before either of them would give in to the playful temptation, and never mind how cold the water got. Anders had plans for the night; he couldn't afford to become too distracted.  
  
Anders braced himself on the edge of the tub and climbed out, offering Quinn his hand. He got the whole Quinn instead of just his hand; as soon as Quinn's feet were both on the bathroom floor, he pressed himself flush to Anders, wrapping his arms securely around him and kissing him speechless. The soft friction of wet, slightly oil-slick skin was so delicious that Anders's thoughts dispersed entirely for a moment; he focused on nothing else but answering the challenge of eager tongues and hot breaths. Quinn hummed happily, touching his warm toes to Anders's, and his mouth left Anders's to gently lick the dip in his throat.  
  
"The bath was lovely, but perhaps we should go to bed now," he mumbled into the responsive skin, "so that I can have that other birthday surprise you mentioned? Since you're already conveniently unwrapped?"  
  
That made Anders chuckle, and brought back some clarity. "You have me, love. But we're not going to the bed." He picked up a towel and dried Quinn's arm, moved towards his shoulder, slipped down to trace his clavicle.  
  
Quinn took the towel from him, and briskly dried his hair, making it stick up like a berry bush. "Oh? Do we have to put our clothes back on, then?" He quickly smoothed his hair back down and found a cord, tying it back. His mouth twisted into a mock-pout; Anders had never seen such an unconvincing display of displeasure. Quinn was practically glowing with happiness, even if there was a familiar tension humming under the surface.  
  
Anders kissed him, tasting mulled wine, his fingers playing with the stray curls at the back of Quinn's neck that tended to escape the ponytail. "Mm. Not all of them. Just so you won't be too cold. I've tended the fires, but the library can get chilly. And I haven't shown you what the children made for you, yet."  
  
Quinn's eyes widened. "The children, too? Oh, dear. I have a feeling I'll be all sorts of overwhelmed before this night is through. All right, I'll go fetch something nice and comfortable to wear from the bedroom--"  
  
"Stay upstairs," Anders said quickly, "until I come to get you. Close the door, too."  
  
Quinn gave him a searching look, but eased into a smile. "Ah. So that I can be properly flabbergasted when you show me the surprise?"  
  
Anders pulled on the green shirt, and kissed Quinn once more. "Exactly."  
  
Once he heard the bedroom door close behind Quinn, he sprang into action. He blew out the candles in the bathroom, and checked the library. The fire badly needed feeding, and he spent a moment at it before running to the kitchen to fetch the last few items, but then everything was in place. He took a lyrium vial and poured some into his own goblet; he would need it. He had used magic all day, and even if it hadn't been anything very much, he was already feeling a little weary. He needed an edge for the most important spell he needed to cast.

Quinn was pacing the room, a book in his hand, when Anders entered the bedroom. He had put on his old, worn shirt he liked to wear at home and a pair of breeches; his feet were bare. He put the book away and went to wind his arms around Anders when he saw him, but Anders took his hands and held them down.  
  
"Close your eyes," he said around a smile, and kissed the side of Quinn's bath-blushed face.  
  
Quinn obeyed, and made a noise in his throat when Anders stepped behind him to tie the dark blue handkerchief over his eyes. It was just big enough to be tied into a knot, and Anders bit his lip in concentration.  
  
"Too tight?"  
  
"Not at all." Quinn laughed. "Anders, I do know which way the library is, eyes covered or not."  
  
Anders nuzzled the nape of his neck. "Good. Then you won't need my help."  
  
Quinn didn't exaggerate; it was almost like the books had an actual magnetic pull on him, because he didn't falter once on the way to the library. Anders held onto his hand anyway, occasionally brushing his thumb over Quinn's knuckles.  
  
"Ah, the fire feels nice," Quinn said when Anders nudged him towards the blankets and pillows he had piled in front of the fireplace - not too close, but apparently close enough for Quinn to notice. "And something smells good. Spices, and cinnamon, I think? Well, we're here - can I take the blindfold off now?"  
  
"Not yet. Sit right there. Don't move."  
  
Quinn made himself comfortable, sitting down opposite Anders, cross-legged with his toes tucked under the blankets, and waited. There wasn't a trace of trepidation on his face; he trusted Anders completely, and knowing that made Anders's heart tremble with affection, but it also made him nervous. He had lost the book and the cake. He wouldn't fumble now.  
  
He took the sheet of parchment from his pocket, and unfurled it. _My bright-star, my constant_ , he read, and traced the patterns in his mind, as he had practised. It did resemble navigating, because at the centre of the complex spell pattern, there was one current of magic holding it all together. If it was allowed to dim and falter, the whole pattern would collapse around it. It was a beautiful spell; Anders had never seen the like, never cast the like. Justice was just as fascinated, he realised; it was Justice's power that made the magic flow so easily around him, roll into being like a wave and take shape.  
  
Quinn felt it too, gasping as magic lapped at him. "Anders," he gasped, raising his hands, instinctively preparing to cast a spell of his own.  
  
Anders's head was spinning, and his limbs felt heavy. He was the conduit of magic that was barely within his comprehension, but Justice quelled his panic. The spirit's joy was palpable, and a little baffling - usually Anders could only feel it so strongly when he was actively working on bringing down templars. He reached out blindly for the goblet and drank the lyrium-laced wine to the last drop. It helped considerably, and he let out a deep breath.  
  
"All right," he said, and the sense of accomplishment brought a smile to his lips, "you can take off the blindfold."  
  
Quinn struggled with the tight knot a bit, but then the piece of cloth fell down, and he opened his mouth to say something - and froze, his gaze sweeping the room. Anders followed his gaze, holding onto the spell effortlessly, now that the difficult part was over. The firelight paled in contrast to the brilliant hues of orange and red that now illuminated the room, ranging from the deep, warm colour of cut rubies to the bright shades of honey. Leaves fell all around them; tiny, autumn-coloured leaves in perfect shapes, the veins glinting golden in the soft light. They dissolved into shimmery sand and slowly disappeared when they met the floor. Strange shapes surrounded them, leaning over them almost protectively; branches that belonged to no tree that grew on Thedas, flowers taller than trees that swayed from side to side, ruins of magnificent buildings. In the distance, a flute played a dreamlike melody, and every now and then, a soft voice hummed along, wistfully, like the sighing of the warm wind that caressed their skin, teased loose strands of their hair.

Set in the middle of such otherworldly sights, the food Anders had prepared seemed hopelessly mundane, even bathing in the shifting, beautiful warm light. It consisted mostly of things that could be easily eaten using only one's fingers; there were pastries, apples, a cheese and bacon quiche, dried fruit and roasted nuts, a plum duff of course, and as much custard as anyone could hope for, topped with spicy caramel.  
  
"Anders," Quinn whispered, and didn't blink. "Oh, _Anders._. This is - you've brought a piece of the Fade into my library."  
  
Anders picked up the sheet of parchment, and handed it to Quinn, who could barely tear his gaze away from his surroundings for long enough to read it.  
  
He looked up at Anders, and Anders saw from the intense look in his eyes that he was thinking so furiously it made him a little winded. "These 'N.' and 'C.' - they couldn't be short for Nychomedes and Cedomir? Can't be - where did you find this?"  
  
Anders felt a twinge as he thought of the book that he could've put into Quinn's hands, had he only been a little quicker. "It - it fell out from between the pages of a tome I was going to buy for you. The Chantry got there before me."  
  
"A tome?" Quinn's eyes were huge and hungry.  
  
"I think it was The Light of the Eidola. A scavenger had found it in one of the magically sealed chambers in the sewers underneath the city." Anders frowned, and reached out to grasp Quinn's hand. "I'm sorry - I wanted you to have it, I know how long you've wanted to study it, and it looked like the perfect thing for your research."  
  
Quinn was hardly listening to his apologies. His gaze flickered over the short message, and the spell pattern underneath it. "Do you know what this is?" he whispered, reverently. "It's a spell personally designed by one of the Lost Four. Tryphana, if I'm not mistaken, since 'L.' is mentioned here, and that's Lovria - oh, I can't believe you actually learnt how to cast this, it's _exquisite_ , down to the last detail..."  
  
"What?" Anders moved closer to Quinn, delighted to see him so enthralled. "You mean... you can't cast it?"  
  
"It would take me a long time to learn it, at least," Quinn mumbled, touching the symbols like he was trying to connect the dots and find a pattern. He glanced up, and although he tried to be serious a delirious smile spread on his lips and changed his expression completely. "I'm sorry! So sorry - here you arrange all this for me, and I get too distracted to even say thank you. I, I just never thought I'd actually hold something like this in my own hands, something one of the Lost Four have written..."  
  
Anders stretched out his legs on either side of Quinn, and pulled him close, his back to Anders's chest. He leant against the pillows, and felt warm and wonderful, the Fade flowers shading them both. "I feel stupid for asking, but who _are_ the Lost Four, exactly?"  
  
Quinn turned in his arms to give him a beautiful, knowing smile. "I feel a story coming on."  
  
Anders chuckled into Quinn's hair, breathing in the faint smell of sandalwood. "How about this? You tell me all the stories you like, but you have some pastry first, and I get to feed you the first spoonful of custard. The children made that for you, and I promised to describe the look on your face when you taste it."  
  
Quinn reached back to kiss him. "Sounds just about perfect," he said in half-whisper, eyes shining with adoration. "I'm feeling quite flurried and dazed after all this, to tell you the truth; a bite certainly wouldn't hurt, and you've apparently made all my favourite things."  
  
"Oh, good. Let's eat, then; I'm ravenous. I think it's this spell," Anders admitted. "Even with lyrium, it knocked the breath from my lungs."  
  
Quinn reached out his hand, and caught one of the golden leaves. It glittered in perfection on his palm before melting away like a snowflake. "I'm sad to leave this place. It feels like wandering into a dream you never want to wake up from. But I wouldn't want you to exhaust yourself."  
  
With a little sigh, and a last glance around, Anders let go of the strings, relinquishing all control over the spell.  
  
Nothing changed.

He tried it again, concentrating hard on severing his connection to the magic that surrounded them, to no avail. Then Justice whispered at the back of his mind, not in disapproval but in reassurance. _Put it out of your mind. I shall take care of it._ Anders felt his hackles rising - he didn't like it when his and Justice's thoughts didn't flow into one, it felt distinctly wrong. _If I keep this up much longer, I'll pass out from exhaustion. We're ending this, now._  
  
Justice's answer was a wave of intense longing. _I shall be vigilant. With me, you have strengths you do not realise. No harm will come to us. Let us linger here. A moment longer._  
  
Of course. To Justice, this was a little piece of home. Anders couldn't say no to him; the truth was that he was glad to hear Justice still felt so connected to the Fade, even wrapped around his soul, corrupted by his mortal feelings.  
  
Quinn touched his cheek, and Anders jumped back to full awareness. "Justice... says he wants to hold on to the spell a little longer."  
  
Quinn frowned in worry, but nodded. "Well, I suppose he would know best when it comes to this kind of magic. But at the first sign of fainting, I'm casting Dispel on you myself, all right?" He picked up a spoon, and his expression eased as he offered it to Anders. "Feed me some caramel custard, please?"

Anders laughed under his breath, and sank the spoon into the layered soft custard, into the smallest part sitting on the top that Lydia had upended, and tried to catch as much caramel topping as possible. He brought the quivering spoonful to Quinn's mouth, smiling as some caramel stuck to his upper lip. Quinn's eyes fell closed, and he made a thoughtful, satisfied sound, taking his time to savour the custard. His eyes opened heavy-lidded and pleasure-hazed, and his tongue peeked out to lick the caramel into his mouth. Anders was certain the slow licking wasn't intentionally seductive, but his cock stirred at the sight anyway, and he shifted in sweet discomfort.  
  
"Maker," Quinn said, in a low rumble, "there's cinnamon, and nutmeg, and something that burns the roof of my mouth, just the right way..."  
  
He took the spoon from Anders's hand, and before Anders's hazy mind could catch up to the movement, he had spooned up some custard and brought it to Anders's lips. Anders had tasted the custard before, of course, tiny amounts to make sure he hadn't used too much or too little of anything, but the taste was different when it filled his mouth, the spices perfectly counterbalancing the soft creaminess of the custard. He felt quite pleased with himself, especially when Quinn added to the heady rush and the sweet taste by placing a sticky kiss on his lips. For a second, Anders thought he wouldn't be able to resist him any longer; desire flared inside him, and he wanted to grab Quinn and plunge his tongue into his mouth, kiss him through the caramel and pin him down on the blankets and the pillows.  
  
But their stomachs would growl all through it, and the spell would probably rob Anders of his last strength at the worst possible moment. And, most importantly, it was Quinn's birthday. Anders lived with the man; he knew telling stories linked to his research was practically foreplay to Quinn. Anders took a deep breath and summoned all his patience.  
  
"That's Bodahn's spices you're tasting," he said, his voice oddly thin, "I don't know what most of them are called, but Orzammar dwarves must know all about spices to stomach all that lichen they eat."  
  
Well. It was a good thing Quinn thrived on anecdotes; Anders had definitely uttered more seductive phrases.  
  
Quinn had already picked up the other spoon, and was heaping custard on his plate. He smiled, the Fade shadows playing over his face. "I'm tasting a lot more than that. It must've taken you half the day to make all this - you and the children. Thank you, truly."  
  
Anders kissed his neck in reply, nuzzling it with his nose to make Quinn laugh, and pulled the quiche closer.  
  
While they ate, just nibbles at first, but soon satisfying real hunger, Quinn started his tale. He never spoke with his mouth full, so there were occasional pauses when he chewed appreciatively on a pastry, or washed it down with mulled wine. He had an excellent voice for storytelling, low and pleasant, and Anders didn't even mind his tendency to trail off mid-sentence when his thoughts wandered. The spell held, and Anders felt a curious detachment to it; he didn't know how Justice was able to maintain it, but he added some more lyrium to his wine, just to be sure. In the shifting Fade-light, accompanied by the eerie sound of the flute, Quinn's words took a solemn tone.  
  
"The Lost Four is neither the first nor the only name given to the four mages who produced some of the most ground-breaking arcane research outside Tevinter. One of them was from Tevinter, originally, as a matter of fact; Nychomedes, who wrote down most of those theories that can still be found. He was a methodical man, judging by his notes, even if his role seems mostly to have been the fine-tuning of the other three's theories."

Quinn picked up the sheet of parchment, and pointed at the "N.", then at the "C." and "L". "Some of Cedomir's writings have also survived. He was from the Anderfels, as I recall. He had some fascinating theories concerning magical shielding. Lovria is a little more enigmatic. Not much is known about her. My extrapolation is that she was an expert on glyphs and portals. She worked very closely with Tryphana, who was by far the most skilled of the group, and their natural leader, as far as they had leaders. There are hints in some of Nychomedes's writings that Tryphana and he were lovers. The Lost Four was a meeting of keen minds, friends brought together by common interest, rather than any organised work unit, and they didn't leave a clear organised legacy. It's known, however, that they studied the Fade and magic in its purest form, magic used by the Maker's first children. The Light of the Eidola is the largest collection of their theories and spell work. Some don't believe it even exists, as a whole. There were many replicas with deliberately falsified information that were spread so that its secrets could be kept safe from the Chantry."  
  
Anders frowned. He hated to interrupt, but a possibility had occurred to him. "Wait, replicas? So the book I saw..."  
  
"Might not have been the real Light, yes." Quinn nodded, eyes glimmering with the pleasure of storytelling as he gestured with his hands. "Especially if it actually said 'The Light of the Eidola' right on the cover. Granted, it may have been one of the first replicas, if it had a letter from Tryphana the Spellsmith between its pages." He looked somewhere past Anders, and drew a shivery breath. "A letter from Tryphana. How do I even begin to describe what it means to me, to hold something like that in my hands? Anders, she was so exceptionally brilliant, so innovative in her spell-making, that she had to invent her own language to write down her formulae." He pointed at a symbol on the parchment. "That one is hers. And the formula at the bottom of the page, here. They're used in all the Circles today; the knowledge spread quickly even if her name did not."  
  
Anders had eaten his fill, but he nibbled on a piece of dried apple. "Why does no one know her name, then? No one but dedicated scholars?"  
  
Quinn sighed, and took another huge spoonful of the caramel custard, which had lost its shape and become a mess of cream and syrup and spices. "They studied Fade magic, Anders; they contacted spirits and studied them, discussed with them, strived to understand how to get closer to the act of true creation, what they saw as magic at its truest form. Tell me if that sounds like something the Chantry would condone." He stroked the parchment gently, like he wanted to apologise to it. His voice was hushed. "They called it _adustum_ in some of the notes that have survived; "kindling", the magic of the firstborn. That's what they sought, to rekindle the flame of creation."  
  
 _Purity in flames,_ Justice suddenly put in, agreeably. _I remember purity. I remember more clearly now. Thank you. I will close this window into the beyond, and remember._  
  
Anders didn't truly hear words when Justice spoke, rather, he saw everything as flashes in his mind, as hazy as his own half-formed ideas - they were, after all, joined as one. This time the feeling that lingered was warm nostalgia, a hopeful glimmer that didn't fade, even as the sound of the flute ended and the leaves stopped falling, and the shadows started to recede, leaving them in nothing more magical than the light of the fireplace.  
  
"Were they... caught?" Anders asked. He didn't want the story to end sadly, but it felt inevitable. Mages rarely got happy endings. "The Four? Is that why they are called the Lost?"

Quinn caught the last leaf that fell and watched it fade away. His other hand still held the parchment like a sacred thing. "There are hints... that Tryphana and Lovria's research took them so far into the realm of the spirits that eventually, they didn't return. Some accounts say Nychomedes followed her; some say he and Cedomir hid and lived out their lives in exile." His eyes met Anders's. "Frankly, this letter you found is the best evidence of her fate I've ever seen, if it's truly written by her. 'Where we are going we can take no books,' she says, as she bids her lover goodbye." Quinn shook his head, and glanced at the fading shapes around them. "I think this is their place, their dream. It's so beautiful, but sad at the same time, wistful. She left Nychomedes a memory of it, and wove her love for him, her bright-star, into the spell itself."  
  
Anders felt a lump forming in his throat. "It seems a grim gift, then. From me to you, I mean."  
  
Quinn let out a breathy laugh. "Oh, Anders. I don't think so. You've given me a _dream_ , Tryphana's dream. She made it this way for a purpose. Yes, there's sadness; it's not a dream of spring, after all, and the leaves are falling. But autumn is also the time for warmth, and remembering. Rekindling."  
  
Anders had to kiss him then, a surge of tenderness pushing him towards him. He pulled back to feel Quinn's breath hitting his wet lips before pressing close again, seeking the taste of him beneath the caramel. He inhaled through his nose and breathed in the scent of parchment and cinnamon that had become precious to him ever since Quinn had first fidgeted into his personal space. Quinn's mouth opened against his; he unfurled like a scroll, letting Anders crawl into his arms, and turned his head readily to give Anders room when he trailed kisses along his jawline. This fire had been building between them all evening, and it took only a touch here, a lick there, to make their hearts pound and breaths catch. Quinn's breeches were worn quite thin, and Anders could feel Quinn harden, hot and insistent against him, making his own cock stir as he squirmed closer.  
  
Quinn made a soft moan when Anders nipped his earlobe, quickly enough to give a tantalising jolt instead of pain. He mumbled something in a language Anders thought sounded like Tevene. Anders slipped his hand underneath Quinn's shirt, tracing his shape, feeling the warmth of his skin. Quinn leant back on his hands, arching into Anders's touch. As he tugged on the blankets, his goblet came dangerously close to falling over; Anders grabbed it just in time, and they shared a short, relieved chuckle.  
  
"What was that you said?" Anders asked as Quinn took a sip, never taking his eyes off him.  
  
Quinn put the goblet down, and blushed, eyes laughing. "I... Oh, dear. I-I don't know if a translation can do it justice. It's from an old northern saga, a tale of forbidden love - and I think I'll just stop there, thank you, because you'll no doubt find it a little... silly."  
  
Anders picked up the goblet and emptied it, then moved to straddle Quinn's thighs. He made an amused noise. "You never stutter when you explain magic theory or your research to me, have you noticed that?" He lifted Quinn's shirt up over his head, carefully, smoothing his hair back down as he gave him a kiss that tasted of warmth, of fire, of Fade autumn. Another kiss melted their mouths together, tangled their tongues in a languid knot, easily undone. "Tell me? Please? I won't laugh."  
  
Quinn was luscious in the firelight, hair the colour of warm honey, the flickering light accentuating the copper of his eyes and the brief flash of gold in one of them, bringing out the freckles, the trails of curling hair down his chest and stomach. He felt so warm that Anders didn't hesitate to strip him of the rest of his clothing in order to see more of him. Watching had always been something that Quinn enjoyed more than he did - call it impatience, or just a preference - but this was the right light and the right place, and he feasted his eyes on his sweet, pliant lover. He soon had to ease the lacings of his own trousers, and sighed at the comfort.

Quinn lifted his hips helpfully, going along without hesitation, but when their eyes met again he wet his lips and glanced away to hide his nervous smile. "All right, I'll tell you. Maker, I think my _toes_ are blushing. I said, 'I want you like wine'. It's from a... serenade of sorts. I'll show you the book later, if - if you want, for the full context; you know some Tevene, don't you, you can probably read it. This is just a rough translation, you understand." His voice dropped a bit, became deep and grave, like it tended to do when he quoted from someone else's texts. "'I want you like a poem, stripped to sweet syllables; I want you like wine, stripped to fresh grapes; my love is a well, I do not want a sip of love when I can drown instead'."  
  
Anders thought of drowning in the taste of mulled wine, in the cosy warmth of the fireplace, in Quinn's freckled skin, and something stirred within him, something a little achy, a little frightening. He didn't know poetry like Quinn did, but he thought he found something intimate in those words that spoke to him, rough translation or no. He leant over Quinn, and pushed him down onto his back on the thick blankets, making sure his head landed on a pillow. He nuzzled his face into Quinn's neck, and tasted his skin without hurry, tongue drawing curling paths. His hand slid through the rough silk of Quinn's chest hair to squeeze a nipple between two fingers, to tug and roll it until Quinn squirmed under him. He withdrew to watch Quinn's eyes widen, then narrow with a drunken smile - not drunken with wine, but something more potent, as his erection strained up against his abdomen.  
  
"As much as I love this," he whispered, sitting up enough to slide his fingers along the hem of Anders's shirt, "I think it needs to come off now, please, and the rest of your clothes, so that I can feel you, properly."  
  
Anders quickly obeyed, Quinn's hands both a help and a hindrance, and stole a kiss between each discarded piece of clothing, hungry for the taste of him.  
  
Quinn let out a strangled gasp when Anders bent down without warning, and sucked his nipple between his lips, gently pushing him back down. Quinn didn't like biting there, but he appreciated a rough suck accompanied by soothing licks, and Anders alternated between the two. He slid one hand down, ignoring Quinn's cock and instead rubbing at his stomach, scratching gently. The hair around Quinn's navel tickled the palm of his hand, and his fingers itched to stray down the trail of rougher, curling hair. Finally, when Quinn started making soft keening noises, he slid down and wrapped one hand loosely around Quinn's cock, touching kisses down its length. His fingers pressed against Quinn's hipbone to hold him in place, and he felt the shiver that went through him as he tongued his tightly drawn balls, sucking lightly.   
  
He savoured every little whimper of pleasure, every minute twitch and tremor, as he moved up to take the glans into his mouth and tasted the salt and slickness gathering at the slit. This had to last, he didn't want it to end too quickly; he kept his tongue soft and flat as he bathed Quinn's cock, licked him languidly. Quinn threaded his fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp, never tugging although his fingers contracted whenever Anders nudged a particularly good spot.  
  
Anders had to stop for a moment just to breathe. Keeping himself in control when Quinn was utterly willing and at his mercy like this took all his mental restraint and Warden stamina. He gave in to need for a moment, taking Quinn deep into his mouth, relaxing his throat and letting him slide in until his nose touched the curly hairs the exact same colour as Quinn's beard. Quinn tensed under his hold, hips wanting to buck, seeking more, a needy groan escaping him. Anders gave him one last teasing lick before releasing his firm, slippery cock and scrambling up to kiss him. Languid lust edged towards rampant need, the effortless delight in each other's presence and closeness becoming a burning necessity as they pressed their bodies together, hands tangled in each other's hair, toes curling into the blankets.

Quinn broke away from the kiss, nudging their noses together. "Make love to me, dear heart, just like this," he said, voice breathy but clear, "so that I can kiss you through it."  
  
The sound of the flute may have ended, but Anders's heart was tapping out a song. He brought their mouths together again, and rocked against Quinn, stoking the fire in both of them. He had thoughtfully brought a bottle of oil to the library and placed it near the fireplace to warm up, but it was difficult to move away from Quinn even for the fleeting moment it took to fetch it. As they went through the familiar ritual of passing the bottle between them, because Quinn didn't believe there was such a thing as too much slick, and because Anders preferred to prepare himself, it occurred to Anders that he had forgotten the spell, had even forgotten the birthday surprise. All that mattered was his lover, so close and so alluring.  
  
He could go on forever about the way Quinn's lips moved silently, frantically, when he paused to let him adjust; he never knew what language he murmured in, but he always knew what it meant. The fire was warm on their skin, but Anders had tugged the blanket haphazardly over them anyway. Maker, the way Quinn's thighs trembled as he wound his limbs around him, the way his brow wrinkled in concentration, adoring eyes never leaving Anders's face... Anders surrendered to him, sinking into his kiss as he sank into him.  
  
It was slow, and meticulous, both of them moving together between the warm blankets, the slowest race to finish there was. Anders kept a steady, controlled pace, pausing occasionally to make Quinn writhe for more, enjoying the way they both blushed with the heat and the friction, the blankets bunching up under them. When Anders pushed himself up to grasp Quinn's cock, slick and throbbing with want between their bodies, Quinn gently wrapped his fingers around his wrist and led his hand away.  
  
His kiss landed on the side of Anders's mouth. "I don't need it, love," he whispered, prattling again, "it's too much - too much of _you_ \- if that's at all possible--"  
  
And then his mumbled words were drowned in another kiss, and he responded so eagerly that Anders tasted something metallic when Quinn gnawed on his lower lip, but even little pains and aches turned into pleasure at that moment. Warmth spiralled through Anders and a sheen of sweat made skin glide easier over skin until it felt like they would melt into one. Anders shivered in strange fear at the intensity of their love-making; this wasn't the kind of sex he had had with anyone else. Maker knew he had tried at least ten dozen other kinds, but this, sex with _meaning_ mixed in; it was still something that gave him pause if he thought about it. Mages couldn't afford such vulnerability, as a rule. Every time sex had become significant, it had become foreign to him, and dangerous - _never forget dangerous_ , rumbled a voice in his ear, and this time it didn't belong to Justice but to Karl.   
  
Anders buried his face in the nook of Quinn's neck and breathed in the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood, of shared baths and stories by the fireplace. There was no danger here, he reminded himself, thrusting into Quinn, slow but deep, desperately attempting to get further into him. No danger, and memories could be smoothed into sweat-slick skin, pressed against well-kissed lips. He felt Quinn's body growing taut under his, felt him arching his back, fingers clenching hard when he grasped at Anders, the only time he ever forgot to be gentle. Spurred on by the electrifying jolt as Quinn's blunt nails dug into his skin, Anders braced himself on the heels of his palms and kept at him, faster now, at a lust-blind pace, until Quinn threw his head back and came with a little shout, a strangled noise that sounded like Anders's name. His climax seemed to have taken him by surprise, a raw and powerful shudder that travelled through him, but when Anders closed his fingers around him to stroke just the way he liked, he made a pleased "mmm" and luxuriated in the touch, squirming and moaning in easy pleasure, riding out his climax, his seed glistening on his stomach and chest.

Anders adjusted his position, changing the angle so as not to overwhelm him; he was already trembling with aftershocks, Anders could feel it all too well, thrumming around his cock. He kept his gaze on Quinn, forcing his eyes not to roll back, his lids not to shut before he reached the precipice and stumbled over it, aching for release and unwilling to let go of the delicious build-up at the same time. His thrusts became fast and desperate, and he took hold of Quinn's side as he pounded into him. Quinn's eyes were full of wonder and pleasure, his hands pulling Anders down to him, and then Anders had to squeeze his eyes shut because climax shook him, a moment of pure ecstasy that had been burning in his loins for so long. His hips flexed one more time before he slumped down and floated anchorless, blood rushing in his ears, and a staff-calloused hand tenderly caressed his back and shoulder.  
  
As soon as he possibly could, Anders crawled up to kiss Quinn, feeling how sticky they both were, with Anders blanketing Quinn's body with his. He didn't care; this was where he belonged, skin to skin with Quinn, who couldn't stop smiling his wide, dazed smile in order to kiss him properly. With the help of magic and a blanket corner or two, they wiped each other clean and went on kissing, lazily, rolling on the pillows and blankets, enjoying the afterglow. They didn't talk for a while, speaking through touch, through shared smiles.  
  
Eventually, Quinn could no longer resist the siren call of the sweet desserts. He moved closer to the custard tray, and dipped his fingers in the creamy mess, licking caramel off his fingers. Anders would have considered it utterly blatant teasing if Quinn had seemed at all aware that Anders was watching him.  
  
"Tell me another story," he suggested, lying down against the piled pillows and stretching out his limbs. The fire crackled. It would soon need to be fed again. "Or a poem."  
  
Quinn smiled to the side, and picked up the spoon to scoop up more custard. He heaped it on what remained of the plum duff, apparently inventing his new favourite dessert, judging by the look on his face when he spooned it into his mouth. "All right." He licked the spoon, hesitated, and took another spoonful before joining Anders, throwing one leg casually over his and tugging the closest blanket over them both. "Once upon a time," he started.  
  
"A bedtime story?" Anders raised an eyebrow, but kissed the crumb of plum duff from the side of Quinn's mouth. "Are you tucking me in?"  
  
Quinn turned his head to kiss him quickly, chuckling into the contact. "Oh, you're nowhere near rid of me for the night, my love. All this food you've prepared is perfectly scrumptious, but it's my birthday and I have yet to taste my very favourite treat."  
  
Anders laughed fondly at Quinn's attempt at dirty talk; it always sounded like he was quoting a book. He probably was. "Yes, ser. Your birthday, your rules. Now that I think about it, there's a blindfold somewhere around here..."  
  
"More surprises?" Now Quinn _was_ teasing, his tone capricious, his tongue flicking out to tickle that one spot just over Anders's clavicle as he nuzzled close. "You'll spoil me rotten at this rate, my love."  
  
"I intend to. The story?"  
  
Quinn kissed him once more, then cleared his throat and began, as seriously as anything, "Once upon a time, there lived a griffon."

"I thought I told the griffon stories."  
  
"Not this one. The griffon lived high on the mountains, where the air was thin and the skies so bright and pale blue they were almost white. There were very few griffons in the world, and most of the time, he flew alone, his golden wings reflecting the brilliant sun. When the night fell and the stars came out, the griffon crawled into his house, deep in the mountain, and slept soundly until dawn." Quinn reached out for the mulled wine and poured some into his goblet. Anders's was too far for either of them to reach, so they shared. The mulled wine was warm and still tasted vaguely of fresh apples. "The griffon was brave, but he wasn't comfortable in the dark, or in the world below. One night, however, he was feeling very lonely and couldn't sleep, so he decided to go looking for someone to be his friend. He left his mountains and bright skies, and found a path that took him underground. The tunnel was narrow and dark, and the griffon couldn't spread his wings. He felt trapped, and almost, just a little bit, scared."  
  
Anders shuddered, in spite of himself, thinking of Deep Roads.  
  
"It was too late to turn back, he thought, and courageously continued on. Soon he began to feel very warm, and then the tunnel turned into a large chamber. The griffon had reached the house of the phoenix, the wisest of all birds. He had wings as well, and they were red and orange and yellow, like flames, and tiny sparks fell every time the phoenix moved, because knowledge burnt within him. He was preparing to leave his house for his nightly walk, and invited the griffon to join him, delighted to have some company."  
  
"You've told the children the story of the griffon and the phoenix before," Anders pointed out, pouring them more wine and offering the goblet to Quinn. "But I seem to recall a lot more fighting in mid-air and heroic rescues and mysterious riddles."  
  
Quinn nudged his foot with his long toes. "This is a different story. The phoenix and the griffon enjoyed each other's company, and became friends, but the griffon couldn't see in the dark, and the air was different down on the ground, difficult for him to breathe. He invited the phoenix to his house, up in the mountains, so they could enjoy the bright noon sun together. But the phoenix was a creature of flame; if he was outside of his cool, shady cave dwelling during the day, the sun would burn him, and he couldn't breathe the thin mountain air. The two despaired, because they thought they could never see each other again, and when they parted ways, they went into their houses and wept until morning."  
  
"This is a sad story."  
  
Quinn patted his head reassuringly, ruffling his hair a bit, like he did to the orphans, and smiled. "Don't worry. It has a happy ending." He reached out for another spoonful of plum duff and custard. He gave Anders the bowl of roasted nuts when he gestured for it, and they settled down again. "There are two magical moments in each day, the dawn and the dusk, and both the griffon and the phoenix soon realised this. When the sun was setting or rising, when the world was painted in warm hues, not hot enough to burn the phoenix, but bright enough to light the griffon's way, the two friends could meet and spend a few moments together. 'Good morning,' the griffon would say at dawn, and when they parted, the phoenix would say 'good night,' and the phoenix would go back to the shade of his cave, while the griffon flew into the daylight.

"Eventually the griffon and the phoenix both grew older. The griffon had feathers the colour of rain clouds and faraway mountains, when once they had been as golden as the noon sun, and the fire within the phoenix dimmed to a glimmer, and his long, bright plumes faded until they were the colour of ashes and embers. Once, when they met at dusk, the griffon asked the phoenix: 'Is it not sad that we've spent most of our time apart, all these years we've been friends?' The phoenix shook his head. 'When I've been with you, I've never thought about time,' he said. 'With you, I've shared the newly kindling light of each day, each moment when daylight burns down to warm embers. These are the moments of hope and acceptance, the moments that are most precious, and I would not trade them for an eternity of cool starlit nights, or clear, burning bright days.' "  
  
Anders smiled to himself. Somewhere along the way, Quinn had veered from simple fairy tale language to poesy. He doubted Quinn even noticed. "And they lived happily ever after?"  
  
Quinn nodded, and took a sip of mulled wine before leaning close for a soft kiss. His hand slipped into Anders's hair, combed through it in an effortless caress. "Yes. Exactly."  
  
His answer had a deep, resonating certainty to it, and it made Anders pause and look at him, at the way his copper eyes seemed to darken with sincerity and his jaw tighten. He didn't mind the thought. No, he couldn't bear to think of anything else, of ever parting from Quinn, even if the rational, cautious part of him screamed that he didn't deal in eternities, couldn't make promises at all. His life was not wholly his own; it belonged to causes larger and more important than him. He didn't need Justice to remind him of that. Quinn had always made such promises as if they were easy, promised him his all, promised him forever. Anders had thought it a part of his unrelenting optimism, even naïveté, but now he wondered.  
  
Quinn's eyes looked straight into him. "Don't look so very grim, dear heart." He touched his fingertips to Anders's cheek, slid them over his mouth. They still had faded ink stains on them. "You gave me a wistful dream of hope and rekindling. I wanted to give you one in return."  
  
"In the form of a fairy tale?" Anders quipped, because glibness was a shield he used with ease.  
  
Quinn tilted his head to the side. "Well... yes. It's a fairy tale about moments like the one Tryphana captured in her spell. Because they're the ones that matter. Not the ever after. Not so much."  
  
Anders slumped down, relaxing muscle by muscle, sweet relief flowing into his veins. He hadn't even realised how he had braced himself for bitter truths, for seeing grief and disappointment in Quinn's eyes because he couldn't promise him forever. But Quinn's lips curved up in an affectionate smile instead, and he leant close without hesitation. After all, there was no place for heartbreak here, now, in the cosy firelight, blankets wrapped around their legs, their lips sticky with syrup and wine.  
  
They made another moment of it, even if it was long past dusk and starlight peeked in from between the curtains. Anders found it hard to breathe, but he didn't mind, not when it was Quinn stealing his breath. He saw the warm light glimmering in Quinn's eyes, and knew that as long as he followed it, he would never lose his way.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Dragon Age Kinkmeme. I know this doesn't follow the timeline - it takes place before Ties of Blood and A Trifle Thrown - but this was the last fic I wrote about Quinn and Anders, and I think it's a fitting full stop for the series. Thank you so much for reading!


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